Naturally
by Damusen
Summary: Draco is not best pleased at his Father's insistence he attend Cambridge, and feels most hard done by for the first time in his life. But a certain cleaner may show him the real world, and that university really can be the best time of your life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. Well, here we are. This story is a very obvious AU, however I have a feeling I'll enjoy writing it far more than any of my other works, which are ongoing but sadly defeated in some cases. The characters are fairly true to themselves I feel; although there is no real evil in any of the Malfoy family members or indeed in Severus Snape.**

**Disclaimer: Realistically, would I be posting stories up here for free if I owned any of them?**

**Warnings! Slash. Abuse. Mentions of abuse. Naughty words occasionally. Using Jesus' name in vain. Possible suicide mentions. Mentions of rape possibly. Dishloads of angst in summary!**

**Chapter One: 'Upper-Middle Class' (Or 'Draco's Delusional')**

* * *

Draco Malfoy had never considered himself to be spoilt, mainly because in his vast social network of friends he had yet to really encounter anyone below his own remarkable social status. There were obviously the benefits, and regular dealings in his own life where he interacted with what his senile and ageing grandmother liked to call 'the lower echelons'. Of course he knew that there were, in fact, two classes below his own, but having never had the chance to mingle for any length of time with such people, it had gradually become easier to dismiss them as something very much unrelated to himself, and therefore, unimportant. Draco was not snob in the sense of actively putting those less well off than himself down, however, he had been granted every whim in his young life that was deemed possible, which, he supposed, was tantamount to everything.

He had been brought up well enough, and was far from lazy, and with this he deemed himself the slightly ironic 'upper middle class'. Which, in reality, he knew nothing about, and if he could help it, never would know anything about. This description fails, unfortunately, to highlight his fine attributes, of which he had many. For example, his aristocratic beauty, for which his family was famed, or his intelligence and quick, sarcastic wit, which, as we will see, irrevocably fails him for one reason or another. But this is a story in which Draco Malfoy grows, and grows up, and even grows a small, yet distinguished, sense of morality.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a known foul-tempered urchin in the morning, so it came as no shock to hear the sounds of arguing drifting through the immaculate hallways of Malfoy Manor. The servants, who had already been awake for at least three hours went about their duties with the practice and familiarity of drill sergeants, ignoring the frustrated grumbling broken by occasional bouts of sullen raised voices.

The Argument, for it had long since become capitalized, was of equal importance to both the Malfoy patriarch and the Malfoy heir, although the manner in which they delivered said disagreement was noticeable. Still only nineteen, and to many people an adolescent by technicality, Draco had no real opportunity to verse his (so he thought, 'grounded') opinions. However, this was a subject he felt strongly about, and with vicious pleasure he set about the house to find his father and make his thoughts known. Had he thought clearly (which, by all rights he should have) about how spectacularly he would fail in his endeavours, I am sure that such an act would have been far more reserved.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Draco if you continue to behave like a child you shall be treated like a child, do I make myself clear."

It was not a question, and Lucius Malfoy regarded his son with clear, level-headed grey eyes, meeting the same shade of silver across the room with no sign of any anger or defeat. Draco tried to school his expression into a replica of his fathers, and came up without success, knowing exactly how childish he must appear and feeling even more fury at the thought of it. He attempted to cool himself, reciting a few prime numbers in his head and instantly calming in a dramatic turn about to his previous behaviour.

"Father, I respect your opinion greatly, however, I must speak my mind on this matter. I have worked at Equaton for a good year now, and finishing my formal education at eighteen has not hindered me in the slightest. I took the courses I would have taken at university, and there has never been any suggestion that not attending university has taken a toll on my work."

Lucius Malfoy held up a hand. Draco silenced. Severus Snape, until recently standing in the corner with an amused smirk decorating his pale face stepped forward and laid a hand on Lucius's shoulder. Lucius nodded to him and Severus turned to Draco, who resisted the urge to roll his eyes and cross his arms.

"Draco, your Father is intensely proud of the work you've been doing for Equaton," Draco attempted to catch the sarcasm but it seemed that the smooth voice was honestly straightforward for once, "and you will make a fine addition to the company, however, university will give you a chance to meet new people, experience new things and come back a more rounded person, although you are of course, becoming exceptionally more oval every day," there was the sarcasm coupled with a look at Draco's perfectly flat abdomen.

"And," Lucius put in, "you shall better yourself with the courses you struggled with last year, English, and French, I believe."

"I-"

"There is no more discussion I am willing to have with you on this matter, Draco. I have rented a flat and hired help, so there can be no excuse for not finishing both schoolwork and the occasional Equaton briefing which we shall expect prompt emails to. I put my trust in your ability to multitask. Humes!" the tall, dark-haired and aloof butler appeared smoothly, "see that someone oversees the packing of Draco's possessions, and make sure they don't turn up at some godforsaken bazaar in Morroco. That's all for now, thank you."

Humes swept out with a nod and a murmered 'sirs', followed shortly afterwards by Draco, who knew that sitting at the desk signified his exit, although he did not leave with the obligatory 'Father', feeling, in some way, hard done by and very much misunderstood.

* * *

Harry Potter was not a superstitious man by nature, but even he had to admit that it must be some sort of karmic intervention that had made him late, this morning, of all mornings. The day had started early enough, that was for sure, and he'd prepared himself with such vigour and organisation that he'd surprised himself, least of all his friends. Hermione, ever the witty one, had remarked that the apocalypse must be nigh, because Harry Potter was rushing to do someone else's housework. Thankfully, for he rather enjoyed sanity, the harsh truth about his home life was, if not accepted, not pitied daily and shared with no love lost in jokes and cynicism.

But that was not for today. He was late enough without an involuntary bout of self-pity. He was late, and on the first day of a new job, no less.

* * *

Draco sighed as he looked around his new lodgings, happy to revel in his own misery.

The flat was tastefully decorated, and closely resembled his own rooms back at the manor, but the aura of 'different' was screaming out at him and he was not well pleased. Cambridge was certainly an attractive town, but it was so conservatively British, with shops selling purely English merchandise in cobbled streets that looked like the set of a bad American attempt at showing what England was like. The university buildings were largely what he expected them to be; archaic and self-satisfied, which suited him perfectly one might say.

He missed the routine of work, and the effort required. From what he had seen, and heard of the Cambridge undergraduates there was very little effort required aside from the effort of getting catastrophically pilled, spliffed, or pissed up. Then they presumably rushed into their third year without having done any work and panicked, cramming as much as possible. And Draco detested cramming.

* * *

Harry pressed the intercom for Flat 3 and waited, shoving his hands into the deep recesses of his worn jacket and stamping his trainers fitfully, his breath already brushing the air with mist in the autumn noon light. He was not impressed with how cold the October air was, his mouth turning down at the corners slightly at the thought if an even colder winter ahead. It was unlikely his uncle would pay for a heater; if he hadn't for the last sixteen years Harry had lived with him then he would see little reason to do so now.

A voice, sullen bordering on sulky, crackled through the thin air.

"Yes?"

Harry leaned forwards, pressing his finger to the button allowing him to speak, "Uh, hi? I'm here to do the work on the flat?"

A sigh, "You're late."

Good observation, thought Harry, wondering if he was going to have to conduct these types of conversations outside every time he was late.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I'll stay later to make up for it. Um, any chance I could come up, it's quite cold down here."

Another sigh, "Well I suppose you'd better come up then."

The buzzer for the door was pressed and the lock clicked open. Harry, somewhat unsure after the less than savoury reaction, hesitated, before firming his resolve and walking up the staircase, taking them two at a time. The flat door was a light, cream colour, with a brass number three at level with Harry's eyes. He shifted his weight slightly and knocked, shoving his hands firmly back into his pockets, blowing his messy fringe out of his eyes and waiting. The door swung open, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

And for all of a second, all he could do was think, "Jesus."

Because surely only that most holy man/God could have compared with the vision before him.

* * *

Draco had been truly forced into submission by beautiful people twice in his life, and this was the second. The first time had been when he had bumped quite unexpectedly into Orlando Bloom in person at Slone Square when he was fifteen, but that had been a fleeting, childish obsession than had been replaced by the time he had found and fell in love with an Armani leather jacket.

This man was near perfect in his appearance, although by Draco's usual standards he shouldn't be. Slim bordering on skinny, he slouched most endearingly and held his head defiantly rather than with pride. Faded blue jeans, dirty white trainers, and a dark green jumper with two small holes he had obviously poked his thumbs through at some point covered what little he could make of Harry's body. His ebony hair was a mess, but almost stylishly so, falling in choppy layers around his tanned face and neck, curling around the nape. His face was decidedly delicate for someone who was not born with noble blood, with a well-defined jaw and cheekbones set high in his face, and a small nose that looked as though it had been broken at least once, somehow adding to the enchantment rather than lessening it. And, set beneath black eyebrows, the two brightest green eyes he had ever seen, almond shaped and almost catlike.

Draco licked his lips, for the room had suddenly become very dry. He cleared his throat and snapped the younger man out of his own stupor, slightly invigorated that his appearance could still put people who didn't know him into silences. H stepped away from the door and gestured for the boy to come in, which he did so hesitantly. Shutting it behind him, he strode into the centre of the living room and fetched the sheet of paper his father had faxed him, leaving the dark-haired teenager to take in his surroundings.

He reviewed the sheet quickly and approached the man he now knew to be one Harry James Potter, extending a hand which he took and shook firmly.

"Draco Malfoy."

"I know. Harry Potter."

"I know."

From this distance, Draco could see he was a few inches taller than Potter, with broader shoulders.

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair and cast his gaze around, probably aware that Draco knew he was staring at the blonde in fascination.

"I should get started, again, 'm sorry I was late, it won't happen again."

With this more professional tone Draco immediately reverted back to the way he was brought up, and turned to go back to his dismal curriculum.

"See that it doesn't, Potter. A cup of coffee would be much appreciated, thank you. Black. The cleaning equipment is underneath the sink and in the cupboard next to the kitchen door."

* * *

Harry stared at the retreating back, cocking his head to the side in bemusement. He was no stranger to being dismissed, but it had never happened from someone his own age, aside from his cousin, naturally. Raising an eyebrow he decided not to mention anything and set about cleaning as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb the aristocratic and obviously pompous blonde. He had no desire to talk to anyone that up themselves, no matter how physically attractive they were.

* * *

**Please, make my day...**

**Review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N. The time line will be fairly inconsistent, although I'll try to let you know how many days or weeks we've skipped ahead. Also, you're going to have to be exceptionally patient with my understanding of universities, as I am only sixteen and therefore am still in the 'I want to leave school and do nothing for the rest of my life but still be fabulously rich' phase. I have, however, been to Cambridge and it is a lovely city, although a bit too clever for me. I'd appreciate any feedback about university to help me with the writing, and indeed any funny stories of your time in uni to help incorporate it in.**

**In case anyone was confused, Harry is seventeen, Draco is nineteen and only just going to uni because he was a clever clogs and did the courses whilst doing A-levels and therefore went to work instead.**

**I think I'll be giving Blaise a permanent role in this fic; he just seems like the sort of character you could have a lot of fun with.**

**Disclaimer: I swear to God, I do not own Harry Potter in any shape or form.**

**Warnings! See first chapter.**

**Chapter Two: 'In Which Draco Makes a Friend'**

* * *

When Harry trudged up the school steps a week after starting work with the Malfoy heir, he was ashamedly glad to be back. Half term, although an enjoyable break from teachers and homework and the sheer monotony of lessons, could be a slight hindrance as well. He had spent a majority of the summer holidays at Hermione Granger's house; a neighbour who was attending Cambridge and lived with her boyfriend of two years, Ronald Weasley. He and Hermione had always been close, and Ron was a good man and he and Harry got on splendidly. They treated him as an adult, despite his being three years their junior, and never failed to offer up a place to stay when things at home got a little rough. However, he believed his had taken up enough of the valuable time they had with one another (between their classes and work) and had spent the half term between Malfoy's house and his own. The silence he suffered at Malfoy's coupled with the outright hostility at his own home had led to a rather strained holiday, and he had never been so glad to get back into the swing of the school term.

* * *

Blaise Zabini was a downright impatient man when he wanted to be, although even then he apparently gave off a sort of lazy, affected charm that many found attractive, some maddening. Thankfully, the headmistress of Orleans School (Mixed) was one of the former, and had accepted him as a good candidate right away, calling personally to inform him of the job offer, if he was still interested.

He swaggered up to the school with his tie loose and his shirt collar undone, grinning at the sixth form girls eyeing him up expectantly. His outfit, although stylishly messy, screamed money, and he was quite happy for it to. His best friend had once primly announced the words, "I'm never overdressed, everyone else is under dressed" but then that was such a Draco thing to say. Reminding him that he should pop along at some point in the week to say hello to the miserable bastard who was still sulking in all likelihood.

He bounded up to the doors and ambled inside, studying the art on the wall that sort of resembled dead carcasses. He checked the list he had been emailed and strode into the section of the school used for English, arriving at 6b and strolling in, the noise and chatter dying down immediately. He grinned widely, bearing his white teeth at them.

"Hey people. I'm Mr Zabini, your cover teacher."

* * *

The Thursday of the week Blaise had taken his calling card and tried out teaching, Draco was bored. He had finished the lecture notes, sent an email to his father in regards to a small matter of embezzlement in the finance department and eaten a healthy meal, checking his breath and his teeth in the mirror. University was proving to be anti-climatic, as far as he was concerned, and to top it off he had to do the subjects that irritated him most.

The doorbell rung and he was almost grateful for the reprieve from his boredom until he heard the dulcet tones of his best friend and the most irritating person he knew, Blaise Zabini.

How Blaise had ended up so relaxed, Draco wasn't sure. His Father, Dr Zabini had died unexpectedly a year after his son was born, and since then his mother, the famous and facetious Daniella Zabini, had scored herself a succession of husbands and marriages none of which had lasted more than a few months and none which parted amicably. It was difficult to pick up a magazine without her name splashed all over it, but even so, Draco liked the woman and all the movies she had starred in were beautifully directed and acted. It was a wonder Blaise had turned out so unfazed, but then again, he was easily the most nonchalant person Draco knew. It would probably be too much of an effort to bother with worrying.

A knock on the door signified his best friend's presence, and he rolled his eyes as the beat for 'Happy Birthday' was tapped onto it. Throwing the door open he couldn't help but grin at the sight of the good-looking Italian, and grasped him firmly in a brotherly hug that they parted after a few seconds with a clap on the back. Blaise strolled into the flat and fell gracefully onto the sofa, swinging his polished Gucci heels onto the coffee table. Draco did roll his eyes now, and walked between the sofa and table on his way to the kitchen, knocking Blaise's feet off in the process.

"So how's class, Drake, managed to make any friends yet?"

The patronising tone was hardly surprising, and Draco realised, as he turned on the kettle and set out two chocolate toned mugs onto the counter, just how much he had missed the man, for all his annoying habits and turn of phrase.

"I didn't come to 'make friends'," he imitated his patronising voice, "as you very well know. And the lectures leave much to be desired. I haven't yet seen a consistent student, and those that occasionally turn up look as though they might vomit all over the hall. So to answer your question, crap, and no thanks, I'll stick to those with some brain cells left, although God knows how you managed to survive in that category."

Blaise barked out a laugh and took the mug offered to him, grimacing at how strong the coffee was.

"God, Draco, and here I thought going to university was supposed to be fun. Well I'm glad you cleared that up for me, I was obviously completely deluding myself."

Draco scowled and he grinned, shaking his dark, curly hair away from his tanned skin. 

"Right, well, we're going out tonight I'm afraid. Just in case we don't have the chance to for a while."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "You teach down the street Blaise."

He shrugged, "And? You do your absolute best to avoid having any fun at all, it took you a while to even invite me over."

"I've been busy."

"So I gathered. Tell me, does your life ever make you want to just curl up and die? It does me."

"Oh, aren't you ever the clever one."

"I try."

Draco huffed and drew his eyebrows together.

"Fine, we'll go out for a few drinks, but that's it. I have a lecture to attend in the morning for French."

Blaise gazed at him with an eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What the fuck? You speak perfect French. And Spanish, Russian, German, Greek, and not to mention my own, rather fabulous native tongue."

"Yes," Draco ground out with a bob of his head to take the compliment, "but I never bothered with learning how to write it properly, so Father insists I have to."

Blaise muttered something that sounded suspiciously rude, and very probably involved Lucius and the proverbial stick up his arse.

"Fine, but the evening starts now. Got any whisky?"

"There's scotch on the cabinet, I'm sure you remember how to help yourself but if you could be so kind as to get me a glass I'd be eternally in your debt."

* * *

Blaise smirked at the sarcasm dripping from every word and clinked the glasses together as often as possible, knowing that with any luck, Draco would throw some sort of hissy fit.

The intercom buzzed and he perked his head up, watching Draco slide up from the sofa and sweep across the room in an unconscious imitation of Severus Snape.

"Yes?"

"It's Harry."

Draco pressed the button and leant against the door, ignoring Blaise's wiggling eyebrows. There was a knock at the door and he opened it casually, walking away without any type of greeting or introduction, motioning to the kitchen.

Blaise ran an eye over the kid and smiled.

* * *

Harry had somewhat gotten used to the attitude that Malfoy bestowed upon him, and simply ignored the blonde man back. He was obviously never going to be anything more than the hired help, but that suited him just fine. Malfoy was a snobby bastard, but it paid fairly well and the work was easy.

He looked around the flat and laid an eye on the man by the obviously antique cabinet, his eyes widening. The man grinned and stepped forward.

"Mr Zabini?"

"Potter. I do apologise that you have to see me out of school as well as in, but obviously Draco here is much too up his own backside to think about doing the cleaning himself."

Malfoy appeared confused for a second before he seemed to work out the answer in his own head. He sent a guarded reproachful look at the Italian and took the scotch from his hand, sipping it and pointedly ignoring Harry, who fumed slightly at being taken for a part of the furniture.

"No problem sir," he said with a smile for the teacher, "I've done the homework you set, so at least you know I'm not wasting my time here instead."

Draco turned his head to the boy in bemusement at the undertone in his words, a smile unwillingly lighting his face at the thought of Blaise Zabini setting homework when he had never handed in a piece throughout his many years of education. Obviously the thought had visibly passed across his face, because Potter, though with slight hesitation, smiled tentatively back at him.

* * *

Blaise enjoyed Draco's company, although God knew why; the man could be a pain in the arse sometimes. Although Blaise was two years his senior, it was Draco who was the more responsible, although hardly the more mature despite Blaise's teasing and messing around. Draco had much more of a set path in life than Blaise, who could really do anything he wanted. He had no idea why he'd decided to do a teaching degree, but he loved it and the couple of weeks since he'd begun substituting at Orleans had been unfathomably enjoyable. He doubted it would hold his fancy forever, but it would do for the meantime, and he'd never really minded not knowing what was going to happen a year or two into the future. 

Harry Potter had in fact been in his first class of the second half of the autumn term, and it was obvious that whilst quiet and self composed, he was also incredibly bright and a pleasant person to be around. His essays were thoughtful and well structured, and it was easy to see that he was the real gem of Orleans, liked as much by the staff as the pupils.

The fact that he was gorgeous helped somewhat. Blaise was as straight as a beanpole but had still been drawn to the incredible striking beauty sitting in the third row in some worn out clothes with his hand raised floppily.

And now he was here, cleaning for his snobby bastard of a friend, who had never gone in his life without someone to clean up around him. Granted, he couldn't really say anything, as he himself had been brought up in the same situation, but this was university, and the whole point was to fend for yourself.

"Draco, we still going for that drink?"

Draco downed the rest of his second scotch and nodded, placing the glass back onto the decanter and throwing a casual but beautifully made tan soft-leather jacket on. Blaise glanced at the dark-haired man running a cloth over the coffee table with his headphones in and grinned, already formulating a plan to have Draco extend his dire social network at Cambridge. He may know half the richer world, but he simply couldn't go a year with only Blaise and his workload for company.

"Harry, care to join us?"

Obviously catching his own name, the boy pulled an earphone out and the distinct sound of some 60's rock band tinkled through the air.

"Sorry?"

"Would you like to join us for a drink," Blaise repeated, ignoring the look Draco shot at him, "the flat looks clean enough for me, and I doubt we'll be staying out too late if blondie here has anything to say about it."

Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly, "Uh, well I don't think so…"

"Oh c'mon, I insist," Blaise smiled charmingly and pulled on his own jacket, "I won't tell anyone you've been hanging around with a teacher and a social retard," a glare and what your family doesn't know won't hurt them."

Harry looked unsure, but Blaise, having been brought up to believe that he could always get his way if he pushed enough, strode over and clapped him on the back. Harry looked at Draco who smiled tightly and nodded his assent. The boy shrugged his shoulders, and with a "why not?" grabbed his own jacket and followed them out of the door, the lock clicking shut resolutely.

* * *

The bar was fairly full with undergraduates for a Thursday night, but somehow that didn't surprise Draco too much. He recognised a few from the lectures, but they waved which he supposed was 'nice', and then promptly continued with their drinking, downing shots like water.

Draco knew he was intimidating. For one, he was heir to one of the largest fortunes in Britain, and for another, he was almost otherworldly good looking. Pale, and blonde, he supposed he should disappear, however he instead seemed to shimmer ethereally. If that made the people of Cambridge uneasy then so be it. He was not inclined himself to speaking with people who spent their entire lives drinking themselves to death.

The conversation was fairly communicative, and he found it easier to slip into his old turn of phrase then he had thought. Harry was bright, there was no doubt about that, and he argued with Blaise and himself passionately, if a little nervously. He questioned the classes Blais had studied and he was studying with interest, his head cocked in an endearing way that left Draco staring at his exposed neck for long periods of time only to be jolted awake by Blaise buying more drinks.

It wasn't long before all three were drunk, and happy with it. Blaise was gripping them on each shoulder and proclaiming them his best friends whilst singing along (badly) with an Elvis Costello song on the CD player. Draco's upper class accent stiffened somewhat and he attempted to explain to Harry why taking English at university was a bad idea, all the while staring blatantly at his neck with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Harry was quiet with fear of embarrassing himself, but he caught a lingering stare of Draco's and held it, a grin dancing merrily on his face. Draco caught his hand under the table ad stroked the palm gently, watching his breath hitch in trepidation…

…Hours later, Draco wondered what the hell he'd been doing; flirting so disgustingly obviously. And as he pointed out the sofa to a drunken Blaise he caught Harry's eyes and smiled slightly, thankful when the boy did nothing but smile back, and quell his fears that he'd someone how irreversibly managed to fuck up spectacularlary.

* * *

Well there you go, things are heating up pretty quickly! Draco is such a flirt!

Review!


	3. Chapter 3

Hello everyone! Here's the next instalment for you, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope

In this chapter there will be a little jumping about, bear with me on this.

The wind bit into Harry's cheeks and he cursed his inability to find some sort of scarf that wouldn't whip around in the wind and do a foul job of protecting his face and neck. School had been a complete waste of time as far as he was concerned, and with that sombre thought in mind he kicked moodily at the bench he was currently seated on, praying that a bus would grace him with it's presence. Unfortunately, with the rapid approach into early December (November having flown by ridiculously quickly), there had been a sudden surge in the number of people affected by the seasonal disorder brought about by that oh so jolly holiday, Christmas. There was nothing worse than watching his usually vaguely normal schoolmates turn into carol singing, whinging for snow idiots, comparing the holidays they were going on and what they hoped to receive from friends and relatives. When Harry had suggested, in a much more sarcastic tone than was normal, that Christmas was perhaps about giving rather than getting, they had stared at him in bemusement, before brushing the comment off as unimportant.

Which, now he thought about it, would bring the total of people who didn't care what he said up to around a million.

The trip he was forcing himself to embark upon was to visit his dearest of friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Draco had been resigned to Harry taking the evening off with a sigh of 'fine', to which Harry retorted that his flat was a 'bloody shrine' anyway, and he only had a cleaner to further prove to himself how much money he could throw around. The shock that had come with this was broken by a snort of laughter from Blaise, who seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the Malfoy heir's flat, and who obviously had no concept of private phone calls. Harry had taken the amusement that had unwillingly crept into Draco's voice as a sign that he wasn't fired, and he in turn had apologized for being rude. They had hung up, and Harry had blushed furiously at his lack of manners.

The 22 bus reared its ugly head and Harry stomped on board, scowling at the floor as it began to move. Hopefully the trip would prove to be cheering, because he really needed to feel uplifted right about now.

Hermione Granger was a bright and intelligent woman, and it was obvious to everyone from the way she carried herself with a sense of quiet dignity, to the way she visibly brightened when talking about a topic she found interesting. It was just one of the many things that Ron Weasley loved about her.

He had grown up in a country house filled to bursting with family. The sixth of seven children, he often found it difficult to bear and would spend much of his time bar hopping around London with questionable friends, all of which his mother disapproved strongly of. It had been at the fairly respectable Detroit in Covent Garden that he had met Hermione, although he often wished under better circumstances. He had been with a group of friends, all of which he had lost contact with except Blaise Zabini, whom he strongly suspected had been there simply to irritate the rest of the group who found him insatiably up himself. When Hermione and a sweet girl called Alicia had wandered in, the real louts of the group immediately began hassling them, until finally, unable to stand by and do nothing, Ron stepped up and told them to back off. They did so, and with this sudden jump in command also came a jump in interest, and a week later, Ron took Hermione to Kew Gardens on the best date he'd ever been on.

They had wandered aimlessly around, enjoying the hot July sunshine and pleasant conversation, strolling out to The Botanist where they enjoyed a good meal and a rather nice bottle of Pinot Grigio. He had walked her to her flat on the Green and said goodnight, savouring the kiss she planted chastely on his lips. For the first time in months, Ron decided to get off his arse and do something, and it was with great pleasure that he told Hermione of his decision to apply to university. Her smile only increased when she found out he was applying to Cambridge, and shushed his nervous doubts about getting in.

It turned out ha had nothing to worry about. The university had accepted him into their German department, and three years later, he and Hermione were sharing a flat, a bed, and their hearts.

"Ron! God, I leave you alone for five minutes and you're burning stuff."

Ron ignored her nagging (which he accepts is just a woman's way of showing that she cares) and brushed his lips across her bare shoulder, taking in the sight of her in a bra and skirt with fondness and deep appreciation.

"No, stop it, Harry's going to be here soon and we don't have dinner prepared, will you just," she brushed him away, "Oh for God's sake, the pasta's stuck to the pan."

Ron shrugged, which she rolled her eyes to. He had never pretended to be able to cook.

"Harry doesn't give a shit, he's been here a million times and it's always the same."

"That doesn't make it right Ronald, and for God's sake, get off me and go shower."

She pushed him lightly in the way of the bathroom and started to scrape the contents of the saucepan with a grimace. He turned towards her and winked in what he believed to be a charming, winning way.

"Will you be joining me?"

She turned to him with a scowl, which gradually brightened into a half smile as he blew a kiss her way. Her warm brown eyes crinkled and she swept a chocolate curl behind her ear, and Ron fell just a bit more in love with her. He strolled towards the shower and stripped as the water heated up, watching the mirror fog up and stepping into the warm spray.

He heard the doorbell to their flat sound and listened to the muffled sounds of greetings being echoed, and the yell for him to hurry up.

He thought about Harry and grinned to himself, happy at the thought of seeing the boy whom he considered a younger brother.

He had met Harry after six months of dating Hermione, the night after they first declared their love for each other and then resumed the most passionate session of lovemaking he had ever experienced. It was this admission into her life that brought him about, and he knew straight away when he saw the skinny fourteen year old with the wild, skittish eyes and bruised skin that here was proof of how much their relationship meant to her.

The kid was smart, there was no doubt about it, but his real passion lay in sport. He could run and rock climb especially well, and these were the only two facts that Ron was able to drag out of him in their first meeting. Hermione embellished, and soon Ron was as much in love with the shy teenager as she was. It was only once Harry had left that Hermione burst into floods of tears and explained how they met, Ron feeling gradually more tragic as the story went on.

Harry's deplorable home life was a rarity in the area of Cambridge in which they resided, and it was obvious from the tone in her voice that Hermione had never been able to justify it to herself.

They had met two years before, in a common not far from the suburban house Hermione called home with much affection. She had walked her dog this way every day for the last ten years of her life, and the cold, brisk December morning didn't bother her in the slightest with the Alsatian by her side that only she knew was affectionate bordering on pathetic.

When she saw the huddled figure curled up on the park bench she automatically reached for the small amount of change she carried her in her pocket to slip by his side, but when she saw that the figure was a child, probably a few years younger than herself, she stopped and bit her lip. He was asleep as far as she could tell, but her parents had always taught her to be wary of strangers and their voices ran through her head now, rationalising the situation. Throwing caution to the wind she stepped forwards and tentatively touched his shoulder lightly. He jerked forwards and she stumbled back, landing hard on the ground as he stared down in shock at her.

After apologies and a long awkward silence, Hermione persuaded him to let her take him out for breakfast. The cold sensation in her gut at finding a young adolescent sleeping on park benches and obviously battered around only increased as she coaxed more information out of him. His name was Harry Potter. His parents were dead. Car crash. His lived with his aunt, uncle, and cousin. They were fine. Really. He had just broken a wedding gift and they had fought. He would be mad too if he was a saucer missing of a full set of china.

They walked for a little while until Harry decreed that he had to get home to start chores. Hermione gave his her number and address, pleading quietly that he come over immediately if he needed to. The next couple of months were silent and she regretfully decided that he didn't want her interfering in her life. Then the local hospital rang her mobile, and she found out that Harry had listed her as his emergency contact. It was only when he sat there pumped full of morphine and white as the sheets, with three broken ribs and concussion that he finally told her what she had known all along. Everything was not fine.

Ron hated what wet on, but Harry was adamant that turning eighteen in a couple of years was worth being with what he was familiar with, even if was a complete cock up. And he loved having him over, even if the visits didn't come as often as they should. Harry was stubbornly independent for his age, and strong-willed. Fortunately, the love and care he allowed himself to receive from his closest of friends had made him lose some of the skittishness and become much calmer within himself. Ron only hoped that Vernon Dursley was prepared to receive an arse kicking once the boy he made sleep in a cupboard under the stairs came of age.

Hermione smiled, her entire face lighting up as she brushed a thumb over her best friend's protruding cheek bones, glad to see that for once his face was devoid of a cut lip or broken nose. She did not appreciate how thin he'd become in the three weeks since she'd seen him but made no comment on it, instead preparing to feed him up as much as she could for the short time he was there in her care.

"It's good to see you, Herm."

"You too, come sit down and I'll get dinner on the table. Excuse Ron he's taking his sweet time in the shower," she raised her voice and got a cheerful, muffled profanity in response.

Harry sat as she set out food and waved off his assistance casually.

Ron swept out of the shower in a shirt and jeans, his hair still damp. Hermione sniffed the air as he walked past and resisted the urge to threaten him for using her nice shampoo.

"Harry, mate," they grasped hands and Ron pulled the younger boy into a hug, clapping him lightly on the back. They broke apart and sat at the table, Ron immediately dishing potatoes and vegetables onto his and the other's plates. A low chatter broke out punctuated by eating, and the comfortable silences as they savoured the Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough for desert. It was warm and full that they retreated into the living room, intent on casual conversation and curling up in the warm.

"So how's school going?"

Harry shrugged and picked a bit of lint off his jumper, "the same, easy, boring, everyone singing stupid carols and wearing reindeer earrings."

"Reindeer earrings?"

"Like the ones you get from Sainsbury's."

"God. Tacky much?"

"You're both so cynical, it's Christmas soon, bloody best time of the year," Ron shot in, sipping at his tea and rolling his eyes at the two scrooges curled up on the sofa.

Hermione shook her head and turned back to the dark haired boy.

"So how's working for the narcissistic prat going?"

To their ultimate surprise, Harry did not begin to tell them of how much he hated Malfoy, but instead bowed his head as a dull flush overcame his features. Ron began to catcall and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Harry babe, do you, maybe…I don't know, like him a little more than you let on?"

She pried gently, years of experience knowing that he closed up when pressed too hard. (Does anyone think that sentence is a complete innuendo?)

"No! God no," his blush became more pronounced.

"Because, that's ok you know."

"Right well, no, so drop it ok?" he looked away and she gave Ron a look to stop making lewd comments.

It was in a slightly more uncomfortable silence that they parted ways that evening.

End Chapter

Well????


	4. Teaser

Thank you to all my reviewers, you guys rock! Sorry I haven't updated, Christmas just killed me lol. This is, unfortunately, only a teaser, but it means you know that I haven't abandoned the story.

&&&&&&&&&

Draco smiled down at the boy in his arms and pressed a tender kiss to his brow, the dark haired boy smiled and looked up at him, emerald eyes shining as they fluttered closed for another, deeper meeting with their significant other. Draco moaned as the boy fluttered kisses down his neck, down his collar bone, licking and sucking his chest and stomach, down, down…

&&&&&&&&&&

Ha, I bet you hate me! x


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: In which people meet people

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Draco smiled down at the boy in his arms and pressed a tender kiss to his brow, the dark haired boy smiled and looked up at him, emerald eyes shining as they fluttered closed for another, deeper meeting with their significant other. Draco moaned as the boy fluttered kisses down his neck, down his collar bone, licking and sucking his chest and stomach, down, down…

"Oi, wake up wanker!"

Draco promply opened his eyes and punched Blaise right in the torso, grinning in satisfaction as the man gasped for air and clutched the bed for dear life.

"That," he said pompously, swinign his legs over the side of the bed, "is for waking me from one of the most delicious dreams I've ever experienced, now if you'll excuse me, I must go and have a wank."

As he gasped and gripped the shower stall in delight he thought of Blaise spluttering by his bed. Always an advantage of growing up in a boys boarding school, shyness just…flows out of you.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Harry smiled as the door opened, flushing slightly at the dishelved appearance of the Malfoy heir. The man had obviously just strode straight from the shower to the door with wet hair and a towel on, his normally pale face slightly reddened from his preferred water temperature (which for some reason Harry knew to be boiling).

He strolled in after the older boy and slipped into the kitchen, ignoring Blaise who was lying on the sofa groaning to himself. A glass of water later and he reached for the bucket full of cleaning supplies underneath the sink, bending over and yanking at the handle it wasn't until he turned around that he noticed the blush staining the blond's cheeks and his grey eyes trained on the spot in which Harry's arse had just been located.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Blaise snorted with laughter and immediately regretted it; thanks to Draco's brilliantly aimed punch, his sternum was protesting against any sudden movement. He settles for a patent Draco smirk instead and clapped both boys on the back, bringing them in towards his body.

"Drinks tonight gents?"

The two lowered their eyes and muttered consent, Blaise smiling happily.

"Good, well have fun, unfortunately I won't be able to make it, a prior engagement."

Ad with that the Italian strode off towards the door, slinging his jacket over his arm and imagining with delight the look of horror on his best friends face.

Serves him right, he grinned maliciously, rubbing his injured stomach. Aggressive wanker.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The evening was quickly descending into that darkest of nights that England's winter often brings. Hermione Granger was grateful for the street lamps as she looked out of the window; unfortunately a year spent in London brings with it an inability to sleep in the ideal conditions reserved for such a chore, and the silence coupled with the lack of orange in the sky unnerved her more then she'd dare to admit, despite having lived in Cambridge for a majority of her life. Ron, on the other hand, had found it almost impossible to sleep in her flat in Kew, despite it not even being in the centre. His tossing and turning every time a plane went overhead had irritated Hermione no end, but after a couple of years of insomnia at the lack of life outside her bedroom window she could see where he'd been coming from when he moaned to her.

Hermione had often regretted a move to London when she was just seventeen. Her cousin and dear friend had offered her the chance to share a flat with her (Hermione still couldn't comprehend how parents thought a flat an appropriate present, but as she met the youth of the city she realised that her life had been rather sheltered) but had jumped at the chance to join a school she'd always dreamed of, and live independently. Her parents, humble dentists, had been wary but accepting, trusting her with an enormous amount of responsibility. Of course, the move had also taken her away from Harry. He had smiled and hugged her when he left but she was terrified of the consequences of her leaving. It was reaching a point where things were so bad at his 'home' that he spent most of the time in the park or by the river. But, move she did, wondering whether or not he'd still be there when she returned as she watched her classmates smoke weed on the school roof and throw extravagant champagne and cocaine parties every weekend.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Draco wondered if a suit was more appropriate, and then promptly disregarded the thought. No doubt Potter would still be in his tatty old clothes or worse, his school uniform. Draco shuddered at the thought.

He jumped up at the knock on the door and smoothed down his pale blue shirt, checking his teeth in the mirror and giving the obligatory twenty seconds before opening the door. He fought back the smile that threatened to show on his face each time he welcomed this strange man into his flat, and tilted his head slightly to the left, knowing that the soft glow of his lamps would highlight his features in a most dramatic way. Potter raised an eyebrow, as if to say 'I know what you're doing, but hell, you've got it down to an art form'. Draco smiled properly this time, and, slipping his keys into his jacket pocket, placed his hand on the small of Harry's back and led him gently down the hallway.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Blaise and Ron hadn't seen each other in a good few years, but it felt as though they'd never been apart. Laughing and mumbling drunkenly, they swayed down the street to the next pub or bar, Blaise hoping against hope that Draco and Harry would be within, Ron hoping for another round of tequila slammers.

They'd met at the same school, funnily enough, Ron had been on a scholarship program for his sixth form and Blaise had, for some reason, taken a liking to higher education. Together they'd had more fun than Ron had had with any other of his drinking buddies, and when Blaise called his mobile asking for a round of drinks on him, Ron couldn't refuse. Hermione nodded her head and rolled her eyes, settling down on the sofa with a good book as her boyfriend shot out the door.

Now Ron, through his drunken tinted glasses, spotted a bar he liked the look of, despite it being quieter and obviously more exclusive. The barman and a couple of other patrons looked up as they entered, but just rolled their eyes when Blaise put his finger to his lips and shushed himself loudly and happily. Immediately spotting the white blonde hair even at the back of the room, Blaise dragged Ron along with him and stopped to greet the boys who looked amused, but not particularly pleased at being interrupted.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Draco, Harry, Ron and Blaise, once having introduced themselves and laughing at the coincidence of all knowing each other, proceeded to drink the night away. It was with laughter and merriment that they stumbled down the empty streets of Cambridge, watching Ron and Blaise try to jump up walls in an awful impression of Jackie Chan. (A.N. Why do boys do that? It's soo annoying).

They dropped Ron off at the taxi stop and continued on their way, Draco and Harry gradually getting closer until they were draped over each other. Directing themselves to the tidy gardens and average suburban house of 4 Privet Drive, they stopped and swayed, enjoying the way the house seemed to tip back and forth.

"Thanks for walking me," the response was directed at the both of them but it was Draco Harry's eyes remained on. Blaise snorted and continued up the street.

"Nice house," Draco enunciated, eyeing up the tiny shack with trepidation. Harry laughed, and all Draco could suddenly think about was house much he wanted to shag the boy senseless. He leant forwards and pressed his lips against the willing respondents beneath, slipping his hands down the boys back and groaning as tongues and body's met at once.

"FAG!"

The sudden shouting from behind them threw Draco completely off guard, and he stumbled backwards only to fall over on the pavement.

The porch lights of Privet Drive clicked on, and a whale of a man strode out, followed by the hugest teenager Draco'd ever seen. The man's moustasche bristled violently as he seized a hold of Harry who whimpered but lowered his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged up to the house. The whale boy spat at Draco's feet and followed the trembling dark haired teenager and the man who had hold of his wrist in a death grip.

And just as suddenly as the confrontation had started, it was over.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

What you do think my dears?


	6. Chapter 5

"_Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing pavements…even if they go no where…"_

_Adelle_

_&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&_

"_Get the fuck off me Blaise!"_

"_Stop Draco, just calm the fuck down!"_

"_POTTER!"_

"_Draco, calm down now!"_

"_Fuck off…no wait, he's coming out. OI! WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE WITH POTTER YOU SICK BASTARD!?"_

"_Get off my property before I call the police you faggots!"_

"_Freaks! C'mon Dad."_

"_Draco, we have to go now."_

"_No!"_

"_We're leaving Draco!"_

"_Harry! HARRY!"_

Draco woke from the dream hung over and with a light sheen of sweat covering him. The shouts of a few nights ago had been constantly replayed in his mind and his dreams, leaving him jittery and unable to concentrate. He'd received a call from Harry assuring him of his safety, but the scotch he'd been downing for the last four days was catching up on him. He'd called Ron up on several occasions, but aside from sounding pissed off and upset, he'd also sounded…resigned. As though there was nothing he could do about the situation. Blaise had been useless, delivering the report each day; 'No, Harry's not been in school. As far as the office is concerned he's always been a sickly boy, prone to long stretches of illness. I asked of they could get social services down there but I'm too new and too young to be taken seriously, and I can't tell them that we were out drinking with a minor."

Draco slipped out of his door and tried to block the mental images of a frightened face and painful whimpering. He strode to the cabinet and grimaced at the ridiculously small amount of whisky and scotch left on the decanter.

He downed the glass and went for a refill, settling onto the sofa and wincing as his muscles protested. He sipped the drink and stared into space, wondering what had occurred to drag him into such a mess.

The buzzing of the flat intercom startled him out of his stupor, and he stood up, the lethargy of the last few nights catching up on him.

"What?"

"…It's Harry."

Draco's heart almost stopped beating, and he stared at the intercom as though it would tell him the secrets of the universe.

"Um, Draco?"

Even with the crackling filling his ears Draco could hear the hesitance.

There was a long pause.

"Please let me up."

Draco pressed the buzzer.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Harry disliked many things in this life. He disliked anchovies, he disliked Mrs Figg's house, he disliked angry dogs and he especially disliked people who moaned about not receieving the latest game console while he had nothing. But most of all he disliked looking into people's eyes and seeing pity. So logically, he avoided looking up into the blonde boy's face and instead stared at the beautifully crafted Italian (of course) loafers. It was when he felt a gentle but firm hand tilt his head up that he squeezed his eyes closed and tried to block off the angry tears he felt welling up. God, he hated this so much.

Draco's eyes did hold pity. And a variety of other things, anger, hurt, and a strange combination of pride and tenderness that Harry had never really seen before. It was this that made him break down, and for the first time in a long time, sobbed into a willing shoulder.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Hermione stormed into the flat and felt tears sliding down her face, brushing them angrily aside she swept past a confused Ron and slammed the bathroom door, grasping the sink and willing herself to stop before she made an even bigger fool out of herself, if that was even possible.

The sight of her boyfriend's concerned face just mad her cry harder, and she felt truly pathetic as she curled into his arms.

"'Mione? What's wrong?" his soft voice was comforting and she breathed in the scent of his aftershave.

"I…I," she burst into tears again.

"Hey," he rubbed her back soothingly, "you can tell me, did something happen at the shelter?"

A year ago Hermione had joined a group for those suffering from domestic violence and teenagers who had run away from home. Harry's introduction on her life had a larger impact than she would have thought possible.

"It was that Parkinson cow," she looked up at him, caught a sight of her running mascara and puffy eyes in the mirror and promptly buried her face back in his shoulder, "she was doing some community service because of that accident she caused, you know, last week, and she just…she just took one look around at all those people and, and…" she started to cry again.

Ron could get the jist of it.

Hermione looked up at him, "They…they asked me to leave, Ron. I told her to shut her fat mouth, her father made a call, and suddenly, I'm gone."

She stared up at him, closing her eyes as she felt soft lips descend on hers.

"I'm so sorry. I can't believe it, and you had that dinner planned and everything and now I've ruined it and-"

"Hermione."

"And God, you've probably had something special sorted and I'm being such a big baby-"

"Hermione."

"I'm sorry, I know it takes up a lot of my time and now I don't even have it anymore and-"

"Hermione, will you marry me?"

"And…what?"

"Will you marry me?"

Hermione took in the sight of her boyfriend's nervous, hopeful and oh so beautiful face and closed her eyes again, this time letting the tears of utter joy shine through when she opened them.

"Oh Ron, yes, of course I'll marry you."

And she threw herself into his waiting arms.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

So, shorter than usual but I couldn't be arsed to write anymore lol.


End file.
